


Faster Sugarplum, Kill! Kill!

by meh_guh



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Ballet, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Murder, Soviet Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meh_guh/pseuds/meh_guh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1959 and the Winter Soldier has been woken to perform an act of corporate espionage. His cover? Primo Ballerino with the Bolshoi's first performance in the West.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faster Sugarplum, Kill! Kill!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliassmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliassmith/gifts).



> Despite the title, this is not a humorous story.

He wakes to the hissing sound of the capsule door releasing, as he has done dozens of times before. It barely takes a moment before he is fully awake and aware, but he has learned never to give away a potential advantage, so he stirs clumsily and affects confusion while the men in lab coats fuss over the ticker tape readouts spewing from the machines hooked up to the stasis tube. Two privates grip him by the biceps and pull him out, half-carry him to a chair which has been bolted to the concrete floor in the centre of the room.

This isn't the facility he went into stasis in last time; the room is cleaner and the technology sleeker. He wonders how long it has been this time.

The privates retreat to bracket the door, which opens to let in a short man in a boring suit. Control is never the same man, but they are all instantly recognisable. They might easily be assembled in a factory. 'Ah, Winter Soldier. You are awake.'

Winter Soldier doesn't bother nodding or responding; his silence is the one thing he can always count on controlling and it is sometimes gratifyingly unsettling to these bland men who dole out his missions. This one just gives a thin smile and holds up a dossier.

'You are Yuri Zhdanov and your target is this man,' he hands Winter Soldier the dossier.

Winter Soldier - _Yuri_ now - places it in his lap and rests his metal hand on the cover. He keeps staring at Control rather than open the file. Control always wants to give mission details verbally before he's allowed to formulate his plan. Acting without specific direction leads to punishment he'd rather put off as long as possible. The dossier remains closed.

Control waits expectantly for a few minutes, then nods. 'Your cover is as a dancer in the Bolshoi-'

'Ballet?' Yuri can't help but interrupt. 'I'm not a dancer.'

Control smiles. 'No, but we have three entire months to change that.'

****

Yuri hasn't ever known what was done to him; why he's different from all the other agents of the Red Room he's worked with since he woke up in Moscow and was given his first orders and earliest memories. He has the vague idea that ballet ought to take a lot longer than three months to master, but when the sour-faced woman who comes and takes him to a gymnasium lined with mirrors and a handrail demonstrates some movements and orders him to replicate them, he doesn't have any more trouble than can be attributed to the usual post-stasis stiffness.

Her expression doesn't change for the three hours she keeps him there, but at the end she nods once and pivots on her heel to march out.

Yuri watches her leave, then picks up the abandoned dossier to find out who his mission is.

American, never left the States, which presents problems reaching him. Some sort of scientist at Stark Industries' New York offices. Yuri reads the biography, then the brief about the research material he will need to bring back once he has disposed of his target. It's some sort of ray gun technology; or will be once the Red Room manages to refine it.

After the target briefs, there's an outline of the mission. Sketchy in detail; Control knows to allow Yuri the room to perform without strict directions. Some White Russian scum has managed to convince the US State Department to allow the Bolshoi into their country, which explains why Yuri needs to learn to dance. There's a note that the target has been given complimentary tickets and an invitation to the reception by the White Russian, so access will not be a problem.

Yuri shuts the folder after a second read-through and lets a hovering private escort him to a bathroom.

He will need to clean himself up before joining the other Bolshoi dancers.

****

The sour-faced woman spends ten hours the next day drilling Yuri with the forms and steps. The day after that, she shows him footage of a man dancing and tells him to copy.

Yuri watches the man, then dances around the gymnasium replicating the movements with great care.

'Satisfactory,' she pronounces after making Yuri run through it twice more, giving sharp corrections that Yuri immediately acts upon only five times. 'Tomorrow Comrade Lavrovsky will teach you the role. Next week you join the company.'

Yuri nods to her and starts running through the dossier in his head. The Company will not know what he is there for, so he will need to blend in. Control has already sent over a selection of skins for Yuri's arm to conceal its true nature, but he will need to be careful. The most realistic skins are annoyingly delicate and the more robust ones make him look like a child's painting.

He will need to do his own scouting of the theatre in New York, but the reception will be at the hotel. Control provided blueprints for both buildings, but Yuri has never put faith in third-party intelligence except when ordered to do so.

The target is more of a problem. Control's brief was exhaustive on Fred O'Dwyer's job and professional life, but didn't provide any details which would help Yuri determine his approach. Yuri frowns at his reflection; he can work his own approach out, but starting almost cold will take up more time than this sort of mission warrants.

Eventually, a private escorts him to the barracks and Yuri sleeps until it's time to learn his role.

****

It takes another seven ten-hour days before the sour-faced woman and Comrade Lavrosky are satisfied with Yuri's performance, then it's a three day ride in the back of a truck before Yuri is presented to the Bolshoi Company as their new Romeo.

The manager has been briefed - albeit very briefly - and none of the corps are stupid; they all know Yuri is not one of them. The prima ballerina – Galina Ulanova, the dossier had said - gives him a long, narrow-eyed searching look, then her red lips spread in a predatory smile and she throws her arms around Yuri's shoulders, pressing kisses to his cheeks.

'You will be strong enough to perform many lifts,' is all she says, one hand dragging down Yuri's forearm, deceptively strong fingers digging into the muscle. Yuri imagines this is some sort of test, to see whether he will bite or fight. He meets her eyes and stares her down. Ulanova grins, squeezes Yuri's forearm once more, then she vanishes into the hall.

Yuri gazes at the other faces in the room and smiles. It's a _good_ smile; assassination might be his primary use, but there is always a use for other sorts of disarming. The corps stare back, then shuffle off to go about their interrupted day. Yuri is just another dancer, nothing dangerous to them.

The manager stays tense, though. He knows at least something of _where_ Yuri is from, if nothing of _why_ he is there. Yuri smiles just a little wider and the man shoots off without even pretending to have a reason.

****

Ulanova moves like water when they dance, and it sparks a tiny sense of familiarity in Yuri's mind, but he dismisses it in favour of concentrating on the steps. She has a fearlessness Yuri recognises in the way she throws herself at him; an unshakable trust in her own body and his strength which is gratifying. She remains suspicious of his presence, but when they are working there is nothing but the work itself.

Yuri had thought that his days were long simply to get him up to standard; he'd thought, when he'd thought about it at all, that the rehearsals at the Bolshoi would be maybe half the length. It turns out that was incorrect.

The corps drill behind them, and Yuri half suspects Ulanova must have been a Red Room subject after the third day without her showing any signs of tiring even after eleven hours in the gymnasium. When they finally break for the day, Ulanova's head is as high and her steps as graceful as when she arrived in the morning, and Yuri can't help admiring her.

Yuri doesn't tire; he can and will keep going until his mission is complete. But even with whatever enhancements have made Yuri able to continue when other agents have long since given up in exhaustion, the long days of rehearsals are enough to wear him down, if not actually out. Yuri learns his role, has his costume fitted, runs through his mental dossier on O'Dwyer and the mission and sleeps. By the time they are due to leave, he has settled into the corps' consciousness as their Premier: separate, but one of them in the important ways.

He receives a short note the morning of their departure; it looks like a love letter, but is actually coded final instructions from Control. Yuri reads through it, then borrows a box of matches from Aleksandra the seamstress and destroys it.

****

There are reporters waiting when Yuri and the Bolshoi clear US customs, the pop-flash of cameras going off as Yuri tries to find the best angle to obscure his face.

'Mister Zadanov!' he hears a few times, ugly American accent mangling his name. They have an easier time with Ulanova's, and thankfully they're more interested in the beautiful ballerina than the hulking scowl that is Yuri right now.

Ulanova smiles for the cameras, answers a few questions in a thick accent, then they are whisked off to a hotel in Manhattan.

****

They have an entire week for rehearsals and interviews before the performance and the reception, so after they are escorted back to the hotel by blank-faced men in dark suits, Yuri sneaks out of the hotel via the roof to make sure he knows all the secrets of the theatre. He spends the entire night crawling through and around all the secret places in case the best place to strike ends up being there.

It's not his first choice, but Yuri knows the value of preparation.

The first full day of rehearsals is a little more tiring than usual, thanks to Yuri's sleepless night, but the experience of performing the ballet on an actual stage is interesting enough to distract him. The space feels vast, and part of Yuri's mind catalogues the several hundred potential threats while he is on-stage. It's out of habit and training more than genuine concern, though.

The Company is invited to a dinner at the home of one of the White Russian's circle that night; a man who ostensibly defected but is in reality a KGB deep-cover agent. The dinner is announced as a welcome, but its true purpose is for the KGB to remind the dancers that their actions reflect directly on the Motherland, and to remind them of the consequences of treason. For a supposed-defector, there are an awful lot of obviously-military guests, and Yuri briefly wishes he could roll his eyes at this ineptitude.

Yuri sits through the heavy-handed threats and oppressive atmosphere and tries to look as cowed as the corps. Most of his attention is devoted to plotting the lay of the reception areas of the hotel and running options for target acquisition.

The man who did most of the intimidating not-talking - Yuri mentally picks him as a Colonel - disappears when the company is led out, and Yuri manages to dawdle with enough of a country bumpkin expression that the wait staff - KGB operatives, to a man - let him take his time walking to the front door.

'You represent the Union,' the woman who introduced herself as Head of Public Affairs says to the group when they are gathered on the stoop. 'Do not forget this for one minute.'

Control is unlikely to let Yuri forget that for a second, but he nods blank-faced along with the rest.

****

'You are not a dancer,' Galina says from Yuri's bed when he returns from his patrol of the hotel and its surrounds that night. He knew she was there, of course, but he makes sure to jump a little when she speaks, and slams his hand against the light switch.

'You are not a dancer,' she says again, stretching under Yuri's sheet to demonstrate that she is nude and unfazed by him. 'Yet you _are_. How did the KGB find you?'

'I'm not KGB,' Yuri says, folding his arms and deciding that looking hunted is his best option. 'Why are you here?'

'I don't care what your mission is,' Galina waves a dismissive hand and lets the sheet pool in her lap as she sits up, lovely breasts on full display. 'What I am interested in is how an untrained soldier can dance like you do. And I am here to fuck you, obviously.'

'Ah,' Yuri makes a show of checking that the door is locked before walking over to the foot of the bed. 'Will you accept “natural talent” and let me kiss you?'

Galina's eyes narrow and her lips twist. 'For now...'

She reaches for Yuri as soon as he gets close enough to the bed and drags him down with a strength most wouldn't expect from such a small woman. Yuri lets her roll him over, lets her tear his pants down and use him how she pleases.

As he expected, Galina is wild and spitting in bed; Yuri rolls out from under the covers an hour later covered in deep gouges from her nails and bite marks smeared with lipstick. Galina smirks at him, eyes hooded as she watches him clean himself up in the en suite.

'I _will_ solve you,' she says when Yuri slips back under the covers. 'You shouldn't _be_.'

It's a thought Yuri has entertained on occasion, so he just gives her a bright smile and presses his face into the pillow.

****

The scant few weeks before the first performance are crammed so tight with rehearsals and Galina's attempts to squirrel Yuri's secrets out through his dick that it's almost a surprise when it's D-Day.

He's spent what nights Galina sought other entertainment mapping the theatre, and half a dozen fake KGB agents have passed on updates about O'Dwyer's current status so Yuri feels as confident as he ever does in his success before he's actually being debriefed.

The corps and the principal dancers are told to go back to bed after breakfast the day of the debut performance, so after watching the corps pair up in familiar divisions, Yuri follows Galina to her rooms.

'We will make history tonight,' she says, robe sliding off perfect shoulders in a calculated show. 'Whatever you are really here for, finish the show tonight. I do not want a scandal to be my _entree_ to the decadent West.'

'Any headlines I make,' Yuri promises with a smile. 'Will be entirely about your beauty and talent.'

Galina rolls her eyes and hooks her fingers in Yuri's trousers to drag him down with her.

She pushes at Yuri's shoulders and he shifts down between her legs. Galina's hands settle in his hair; a now-familiar weight that guides him where she wants him.

From experience, Yuri starts with some teasing huffs of breath and settles Galina's legs over his shoulders and his hands under her arse. She arches under him, one heel dragging along his spine as Yuri flicks his tongue against her clitoris.

Yuri can't remember where the knowledge comes from, but the musk and Galina's breathless encouragements lead him through in some sort of muscle memory. He flicks his tongue against her until she starts swearing and yanking on his hair, then he mouths against her clit; tongue and teeth and lips in a relentless press until Galina shudders under him and wrenches him away by the ears so mouth at the crease of her thigh instead.

After three minutes, Galina's grip relaxes and Yuri shifts centre again. Two fingers, this time, and Galina gives a sigh as they slide in while Yuri licks at her again. This soon after, Galina is always a little drunk so Yuri takes his time mapping her out with his mouth. She's always impatient to start with, then it takes a while for her to come down.

Yuri curls his fingers and presses his dick against the mattress, waiting for Galina to recover enough for round two. She twitches around his fingers and he feels her nails dig into the back of his neck, but she just pushes him harder against her mound.

Yuri lifts his face up long enough to grin approvingly at her; a woman who knows what she wants and will just _tell_ Yuri how to go about giving it to her will always be his favourite thing. Even if he can't remember any specific occasions before Galina.

Galina arches an eyebrow at him and gives him another shove, so Yuri buries his face in her again.

It takes another two orgasms before she hauls Yuri up by the hair and hisses 'get in me'. Yuri obeys enthusiastically and fucks into her with great concentration. Galina tenses around him in concert with his thrusts, bites at his lips and laughs delightedly as the bed shakes hard enough to batter the wall.

Finally she clenches around Yuri, fingers clawing into his buttocks to draw him in as close as he can get and he obeys her unspoken order and comes.

She lets him pant into her neck for a while, then Galina shoves him off and kicks the blankets back up. She settles them over both her and Yuri, then turns onto her side, dragging Yuri's arm with her to settle it over her belly.

Yuri shifts so he's pressed against the line of Galina's back and settles down to wait until the performance tonight and the conclusion of his mission.

****

Galina's patience for romance runs out after an hour and she kicks Yuri out to finish her nap in peace. Yuri goes back to his own room, mostly to check what sort of surveillance the Americans have got him under, but it seems like no one cares what the Bolshoi Ballerinas are doing in the lead-up to their debut.

Certainly there are no spies loitering on the Bolshoi floor, and the windows are not frequent enough to be an effective mode of supervision.

Yuri indulges in a single frowning shake of his head before he double checks his three on-site stashes and the four escape routes. Everything is clear and orderly, so after doing a second randomised check, Yuri returns to the janitorial closet he'd stashed his weapons in and spends the rest of the day cleaning, sharpening and assembling the lot.

****

The performance goes smooth as Siberian ice, Galina floating across the stage and the corps clockwork-perfect in support. Yuri manages to spare about twenty per cent of his attention for scanning the crowd, and just as he'd been briefed O'Dwyer is in the third row, seven seats from the left.

He has the look of a man uncertain why he's where he is until Yuri lifts Galina and lunges forward, then O'Dwyer leans forward in his seat, knuckles going tight against the velvet-covered chair.

_Ah_. Yuri lets his plan shift as he sets Galina down again. That does simplify his approach. He finishes the show with rather more angling of his arse towards stage right than had been in the choreography, but a second glance at O'Dwyer shows the man is well and truly captivated without Yuri having to do anything.

They take bows; Galina first, then with Yuri. The pair of them stand in a spotlight for three minutes while the applause thunders, Galina's chest heaving and eyes glowing before she twitches a hand to signal the corps forward to take their share.

Yuri endures the noise and the press of several hundred pairs of eyes, making sure to glance with subtly-increasing interest towards O'Dwyer. He should possibly try for a more covert approach, but Americans are not known for their subtlety and he has a brief window to make this particular play before he has to resort to something with less finesse.

At length the crowd settles and the dancers are allowed to retreat to their dressing rooms to change for the reception. Yuri checks the skin over his left arm, but whatever the new material is it lasts well. A quick once-over with a wash cloth is all he needs after that; even the lights weren't enough to make Yuri sweat when he was only dancing for an hour.

There's a bottle of scent-free lotion he's been using to make sure the artificial skin doesn't peel, so Yuri slips that into a pocket of the suit that had been hanging on the back of his door before he steps into the corridor. He's at least twenty minutes earlier than the corps, so he settles into a pool of shadow on the balcony overlooking the theatre's lobby to watch the crowd as they finish their drinks and rave about the show in obnoxious tones.

****

Yuri escorts Galina into the reception and slips away as soon as she's occupied soaking up the adoration of every man in the room who's under eighty. He heads for the bar and looks as theatrically uncomfortable as he can.

It hardly takes any time before O'Dwyer appears beside him to lean against the polished teak.

'You'd think red-blooded Americans would be more appreciative of strength and stamina than delicate grace,' O'Dwyer murmurs from behind a glass of something golden, leaning in almost too close. He catches Yuri's eye for a moment, then runs his gaze up and down Yuri's form.

Idiot man to think Galina was anything less than unyielding steel and endless exertion, but Yuri has a mission. Instead of correcting O'Dwyer, Yuri angles himself towards the man, the pair of them closing out the reception to focus on each other. Yuri does not speak, but he quickens his breathing a little and alternates staring at O'Dwyer's lips and his blown pupils. The involutary physiological signs of lust are easiest to mimic when he copies the voluntary ones. The body is stupid and can be tricked into arousal.

After a long, charged moment, O'Dwyer swallows and darts a glance at the crowd. Yuri slides his flesh hand along the bar to touch O'Dwyer's wrist; as the man said, the rest of the room is far too taken with the beautiful women to pay attention to a couple of men propping up a bar.

'I must make face,' Yuri says, affecting an accent Americans expect but he has never actually had. 'Not to be shame Mother Russia by leave too early.'

Emboldened by Yuri's reciprocation, O'Dwyer relaxes and lifts his glass again. 'I can wait. Go make your rounds.'

'Not be long,' Yuri plucks the glass out of O'Dwyer's hand and meets his stare as he tosses back what turns out to be quite ordinary whiskey. Far from the worst Yuri can remember drinking, but apparently the hotel is not overly concerned with providing the best to their Russian guests. 'As you say, much interest in ladies, less in Yuri.'

Yuri leaves O'Dwyer with a bright smile and circles the room to ensure the KGB agents present see him representing the Motherland. There are a handful of diamond-strewn wives of various ages who take turns hanging off his elbow and glancing up through their eyelashes, but by far the larger portion of the crowd is pressing around Galina and a few of the prettier members of the corps. Yuri slips into the hall and ensures his momentary departure will not be reported by carefully drugging the agents guarding the front door who are pretending to be valets and stashing them in the cloakroom. They will sleep for at least two hours, by which time Yuri intends to be finished with his mission.

He returns to the reception, guests well on their way to extremely drunk, and raises his eyebrows across the room. O'Dwyer sets his glass down on the bar and weaves his way through the crowd without even finishing his drink.

'You have place?' Yuri asks, leaning in to brush his lips across O'Dwyer's ear. 'Room is watching by KGB.'

'Yeah...' O'Dwyer shivers and follows Yuri into the hall. 'Yeah, close enough to walk, actually.'

They leave the hotel a few minutes apart to ensure secrecy; an unnecessary precaution, but one which fits Yuri's cover.

****

O'Dwyer opens his apartment door and waves Yuri inside before turning to set the three locks. 'Get yourself a drink if you want.'

Yuri prowls over to the sideboard with its collection of decanters and heavy glasses and pours two measures of whiskey. When he turns, O'Dwyer has moved close enough that their chests brush as they breathe.

'How do you want to do this?' O'Dwyer sips at his whisky and rests a hand against Yuri's hip. It's not restraining or demanding, just a point of contact.

It's not a question or a manner Yuri is used to, so he falls back on standard procedure. 'You in me. Hard and fast.'

O'Dwyer's fingers clench briefly and his eyes close as he makes a visible effort to keep his control. 'Hard, yes,' he says after a moment. 'But I like to take my time.'

Yuri shrugs and tosses his drink back, drops the glass on the sideboard and leans into the hand on his hip. The way this sort of assignment goes, he has to take whatever the target wants to do. Hard and fast is the usual reaction he inspires, with plenty of hair-pulling and cursing while he waits out the rutting. Sometimes Control uses him to make sure his skills haven't gone rusty, that he knows how to obey in the bedroom just as well as the battlefield. So Yuri lets O'Dwyer set the pace and steels himself for discomfort without letting it show past his smile.

O'Dwyer laughs and tosses his own drink back, then leans in to press his lips to Yuri's. The hand not already on Yuri's waist pushes at Yuri's jacket until Yuri slips it off and drops it to the floor.

O'Dwyer is an accomplished kisser, a little forceful as he drags teeth over Yuri's bottom lip, and he laughs into Yuri's opening mouth. 'No one can see. No one will know, you don't have to be so stiff.'

It's an absurd promise to make; Control will know, Control always knows. But not until later when Yuri is debriefed. Yuri brings his own arms up to start stripping O'Dwyer as O'Dwyer presses closer and slips a leg between Yuri's.

'Still shy, huh?' O'Dwyer starts unbuttoning Yuri's shirt. 'You've got no reason. Or are you just not much of a talker?'

'Is dangerous,' Yuri whispers back, sliding his hands around O'Dwyer's waist. 'One noise, KGB find you and suddenly you are asset. Many years habit, not alert listeners... sorry but cannot break even now.'

O'Dwyer's face twists, an expression it takes Yuri several moments to place: sympathy.

'I know it's bad here,' O'Dwyer stops peeling the shirt off Yuri and starts running his hands along Yuri's flanks in long, soothing strokes. 'And there's plenty would kill me, but I'm not in that sort of danger. I can't even imagine...'

Yuri ducks his head and busies himself stripping the shirt off. O'Dwyer would be in exactly the danger Yuri is describing from his own people if he weren't under a death sentence from Control. KGB and CIA tactics come from the same playbook. He drops the shirt on a nearby chair and glances up through his lashes.

'Too much talk,' Yuri crowds closer to O'Dwyer and sends a pointed glance towards the dark bedroom. 'You not my mother.'

'I should hope not!' O'Dwyer laughs and steps to one side. 'OK. Go make yourself comfortable, I'm just gonna clean up.'

Yuri strips the rest of his clothing, leaving it neatly folded over the back of a chair well outside any possible blood spatter before he lies down on top of O'Dwyer's bedspread. He listens to O'Dwyer washing up in the bathroom, opening and closing some cupboards, then a triumphant exhalation before O'Dwyer appears in the bedroom door.

'Oh _yeah_ ,' O'Dwyer's pupils expand like an oncoming fist and his cock jumps inside his y-fronts. 'Yeah, that is swell.'

Yuri smirks at O'Dwyer and throws his bottle of lotion at him; hard enough that O'Dwyer staggers back a step when he catches it against his ribs. Hard enough to seem like a challenge.

'You standing in door all night?' he draws one leg up, pointed toes dragging along the inside line of his other leg. 'I could go find other entertainment.'

'That won't be necessary,' O'Dwyer skims his underpants and crosses the room in four seconds, weight tipping his mattress and Yuri towards him before he settles with a knee either side of Yuri's ribcage. He shuffles forward a little; enough so Yuri's arms are pushed up and out from his chest. Yuri feels a little like the pictures in that church he'd once had to hide in while he waited for the bleeding to stop; pinned in place and splayed out for someone else's enjoyment.

He opens his mouth as O'Dwyer leans forward and angles his cock. With his arms pinned out between O'Dwyer's knees and the headboard, Yuri should be immobilised.

He isn't sure if O'Dwyer means to make a point pinning him like this, but it hardly matters. Yuri could be standing over O'Dwyer's cooling body thirty seconds from now, regardless of the weight and the pin if he needed to.

He widens his lips and runs his tongue around the circumcision scar, drags his head back against the pillows to pull his lips off the head of O'Dwyer's cock with a popping sound, and smirks while licking his lips.

'Nice,' Yuri flicks his tongue against the slit as O'Dwyer's cock bobs in front of his lips. 'You like restrained? You want I suck you dry then make you hard again? I stay and you fuck face, then put pretty cock all the way in me?'

He arches his hips off the bed and lets his eyes slide shut as his mouth opens on a calculated gasp.

O'Dwyer gives a choked-off curse and slides a hand behind Yuri's head to pull him forward again.

The angle is a bad one, but Yuri groans and flutters his eyelashes and his tongue, and before long O'Dwyer is coming in his mouth. Yuri swallows what he can and lets the rest dribble down his chin to pool in the hollow of his throat as he gasps dramatically for air.

O'Dwyer leans against the wall and pants like he's just run the length of the Trans Siberian.

Yuri waits three minutes, since previous missions have shown that to be the actual amount of time people interpret as “forever”, then he runs his fingers along what he can reach of O'Dwyer's thigh. 'I need to go find entertainment, or is the fucking yes?'

O'Dwyer groans and Yuri watches as his cock fills again, still purple-red and puffy from the last erection.

He eels his way down parallel to meet Yuri face-to-face and spends a long time dragging his lips over Yuri's and his cock over Yuri's stomach before grabs Yuri by the hips to pull him further down the bed away from the headboard. Yuri rolls his neck to ease the slight crick and drags his blunt nails the length of O'Dwyer's back. In response, he presses Yuri's knees apart and kneels back to open the lotion.

Yuri opens to his fingers easily; one leg lifted over O'Dwyer's shoulder to give him the access he needs. The slick press of cock burns just a little when O'Dwyer shoves in, but he's never been bothered by pain and this hardly even counts.

O'Dwyer swears and mouths at Yuri's collarbone as he bottoms out, pausing and panting until Yuri tilts his hips and gasps an encouragement.

Having come once already, O'Dwyer takes his time. Long, slow strokes which have enough force behind them to shift them further up on the pillows until Yuri's head smacks against the headboard again.

'Shit,' O'Dwyer slows a little, gentles his thrusts. 'Sorry.'

'Is all good,' Yuri digs his fingers into O'Dwyer's backside and urges him closer again. 'Fuck me, will not break.'

O'Dwyer goes back to his forceful fucking, every stroke making his stomach press into Yuri's cock until he shifts his weight and wraps a hand around Yuri.

'I want to feel you come around me,' he gasps. 'Come for me.'

Yuri has never been bothered with his own climax in this sort of situation, but an order is an order. He clenches around O'Dwyer and gives into the demand with a series of small pulses that leave his and O'Dwyer's stomachs slippery for the five thrusts before O'Dwyer spends in turn.

O'Dwyer goes heavy and still until his breath slows to normal, then he rolls over to collapse on the sheets beside Yuri. Apparently he's one of the majority of men who just shut down for a while after sex, so Yuri tears the fake skin from his index finger, activates the syringe embedded in the tip and injects a teaspoon of Australian Taipan venom into O'Dwyer's carotid.

'Wha-' O'Dwyer's eyes snap open, but he hardly even has time to panic before the toxin is doing its work.

Yuri holds him down until the last of the tremors stop, then he starts his search for the research.

He makes sure to turn the apartment upside down, grabs all the cash and small valuables so the police don't look any further than presumed opportunistic theft by a rent boy. It's possible they won't even look at the body long enough to find the injection site; there's never much interest from authorities in investigating the murder of what they consider a sub-human.

The material he needs is tucked inside the drawer of O'Dwyer's desk, an envelope taped to the base of the bottom drawer. He takes pictures of every page with the tiny camera Control had supplied, then replaces it carefully.

Yuri gives the apartment a final examination to make sure there is nothing to indicate to Stark Industries' security they've been breached, then he slips out into the New York night.

****

'The Americans have no idea this was anything other than another murderous prostitute,' Control says, not looking up from the pile of Yuri's photographs. 'And Stark remains oblivious to our gain.'

Yuri – Winter Soldier again; Yuri died as soon as the Bolshoi returned to Russian soil – accepts the statement with a nod.

Control finishes going over the schematics and calculations and notes and frowns up at Winter Soldier. 'What I don't understand is why you went through with the deviance.'

Winter Soldier returns his stare. The possibility of doing otherwise had not occurred to him. 'Verisimilitude.'

'Ah,' Control nods, then makes a gesture to the Privates bracketing the door. 'Put him under again. And tell the Red Room to send Doctors Zelenka and Kochanski over immediately. They have a lot of work to do.'

Winter Soldier follows the Privates back to his capsule, a handful of turns down empty concrete hallways. The technicians are ready when they get there; the straps a little too tight as they wipe him, like they're afraid he will break free.

The last thing he sees through the glass is a blank-faced soldier. Then the cold rushes in.

**Author's Note:**

> Real life basis of some of this: In 1959 Sol Hurok (a White Russian who fled to America and made his life there) managed to bring the Bolshoi ballet to the USA for an 8 week tour; the headliners in the performance of Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet were Galina Ulanova and Yuri Zdanov. So partly RPF, I guess?
> 
> In 1960, Maiman was funded by Hughs Aircraft Company to develop lasers, so my headcanon for how this plays out after Bucky goes under again is: The SI work is way off base and the red room scientists blow themselves up like nine times between bucky's return and Maiser's reveal of working laserrrrrssss.
> 
> Many thanks to Mirianna for the original title suggestion (From Nutcracker, With Love (Un, Deux, Trois and SHOOT!)


End file.
